


Betamax

by shafau



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, MTMTE, scavengers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafau/pseuds/shafau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'll be playing with terminology a bit here, most notably 'interfacing' and 'conjunx endura'. While I am a big fan of robot husbands, I thought it would be interesting to explore what /else/ those terms could possibly mean. More notes/essays on headcanon to follow at the end of the story.</p>
<p>(I started writing this before #16.  So, my take on the 'conjunx endura' thing has kind of been jossed already, but who cares. Hell yeah, robot husbands!)</p>
<p>Set after MTMTE #15/16.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Betamax

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be playing with terminology a bit here, most notably 'interfacing' and 'conjunx endura'. While I am a big fan of robot husbands, I thought it would be interesting to explore what /else/ those terms could possibly mean. More notes/essays on headcanon to follow at the end of the story.
> 
> (I started writing this before #16. So, my take on the 'conjunx endura' thing has kind of been jossed already, but who cares. Hell yeah, robot husbands!)
> 
> Set after MTMTE #15/16.

Sometimes, Fulcrum thought with resignation, the WAP seemed to spend more time parked and waiting for repairs than actually in flight.

And most of the time when she _was_ in flight, she was _looking_ for somewhere to park for repairs. Or, at the very least, for resources to stock up on for the next inevitable time they had to park. Their course across the sector was dictated less by an actual destination than by path-of-greatest-likelihood of parts.

Most recently, that path had led to them nosing their way through an asteroid belt in the middle of nowhere.

Crankcase steered them through with his usual combination of skill and surliness. "Something big passed this way recently. They've blasted a path almost clear through the belt."

"Hey, near that big asteroid over there - looks like debris," Spinister chirped brightly. "Maybe they crashed?"

Krok nodded. "It's worth a look."

The WAP edged nearer, and Crankcase whistled appreciatively. "Sensors are picking up all sorts of goodies. High-capacity cabling, vibranium shielding, enough duranium alloy to plate a cybernought - Krok, we can definitely use this stuff."

"Good news." Krok stood. "Fulcrum, go and find Misfire - you two can head down to the asteroid itself, see if anything useful ended up on the surface. The rest of us will sweep up what we can from orbit."

* * *

The WAP hovered awkwardly above the surface of the asteroid, wheezing and groaning as Crankcase made the most of the low gravity to avoid setting down entirely.

Misfire leapt out of the open cargo bay door, snapping into his jet mode with glee. "C'mon pinhead, we don't have all day."

Clinging to the bulkhead, Fulcrum eyed the drop below with undisguised fear. "Er, yeah. Sure. Just as soon as we actually land."

"Not going to happen," grunted Crankcase over the intercom. "If we land her now, she ain't taking off again. Not until we get those generators replaced."

"That works for me."

"Just jump, pinhead! It's not far! Anyone would think you'd never done this before!"

"Yeah, and look how well that worked out last time!"

Misfire made a rude noise. Fulcrum glared at him, about to make a snippy rejoinder, when the intercom snapped on again. 

"What's the hold up, Fulcrum?"

"Krok - sir - you do remember what happens when I jump off things, right?"

"Fulcrum," growled Krok in warning. Funny how two short syllables can so succinctly convey 'so-help-me-if-you-don't-hurry-up-I-will-leave-you-here-to-rust-now-get-off-my-ship-before-I-come-down-there-and-personally-kick-you-off-it.'

_Oh, rust it._ Fulcrum offered up a prayer, closed his eyes tightly, and stepped off the ramp.

And had the breath knocked out of him as he landed almost instantly on Misfire's back. "Too slow!" the jet declared as Fulcrum scrabbled for purchase on his fuselage. "C'mon, I saw something over that ridge!"

"I hate you," gasped Fulcrum as they accelerated away, the WAP peeling skywards behind them.

* * *

The asteroid was the size of a small moon, with a paltry atmosphere so thin that their voices were reduced to reedy whispers. Debris littered the surface - pulled in by gravity, it pockmarked the ground with everything from fist-sized chunks of once-molten metal to still-sparking slabs bigger than Grimlock.

The two scavengers picked their way across the battered landscape. Each shouldered a large net, into which they slung anything that looked like it could be useful. Anything too large for the net was tagged for pickup when the WAP returned.

"What do you think all this was?" asked Fulcrum, peering curiously at a hunk of circuitry the size of his head. Misfire shrugged, tipping another ragged slab of alloy into the net on his back.

"Don't know, don't care."

Fulcrum looked at him in surprise. "Aren't you even the slightest bit curious?"

"Nah. You've seen one wreck, you've pretty much seen 'em all. Ooh, an instrument cluster!"

"But this - this could have been anything! An Ilxian pleasure-yacht, a Silurian brood transport -"

"Nope. It's Autobot. Definitely Autobot."

Fulcrum was staring now, impressed despite himself. "How-?"

Misfire puffed up. "Well, see, an experienced expropriation specialist such as myself gets to learn the signs. There's all sorts of clues and hints, if you know where to look. But," he posed thoughtfully, hand stroking his chin, "if there's one thing - one single clue that gives it all away - I'd have to say that it's probably the Autobot hiding behind that cooling unit, hoping we haven't spotted him yet."

"WHAT?!"

Misfire rolled his eyes. "Okay - the Autobot who now knows without a doubt that we've spotted him."

They dove behind the nearest large outcropping of rock to avoid the volley of laser fire that... never came.

"Weapons?" whispered Fulcrum, back pressed up against the rock. 

Misfire gestured at his small pistol. "Just this. You?"

"Just harsh language. Why isn't he firing on us?"

"I don't know! They normally do!"

They looked at each other. "So... what now?"

Misfire shrugged, and peered over the top of the rock. "He isn't moving," he reported. Seemingly making up his mind, he vaulted over the rock, bounding over towards the unit.

"Misfire! What the hell are you doing?! Get back here!"

Misfire rounded the cooling unit and came to a stop, hands on his hips. "Huh. It's okay, pinhead. I don't think we've got much to worry about."

Reluctantly, Fulcrum scrambled out from behind cover and made his way over. Slowing as he reached him, he peered cautiously over the jet's wings. "Oh."

Pinned by the massive metal block, a tiny black recordicon stared back up at them from a cracked visor.

"Um... Bah-weep-Graaaaagnah wheep ni ni bong?" offered Rewind, weakly.


End file.
